Homecoming
by Spada2014
Summary: The Demon Hunter is an answer to Leah's prayers just when her uncle has gone missing. Along with the Templar Kormac, they set out to scout the Cathedral and rescue Deckard Cain. Moody and ill-tempered, the Demon Hunter battles both inner and outer demons.
1. Chapter 1

**Homecoming**

"In winter, Sun is yonder.  
The only warmth,  
From a heart grown fonder."

Stanislas sat in a quiet stupor listening to the pretty singing voice of the young woman strumming her lute for the entertainment of the six or so guests amassed in the inn's tavern. Outside a storm raged, causing his already jumpy party to startle every time the wind rattled the shutters.

"Bad night, isn't it?" the innkeeper nodded to one of the customers.

"No worse than the usual," the stout man grumpily replied, settling into what appeared to be a long night of drinking. "If it's not the rains, it's the undead. I am quite done with that wretched farm."

"The militia couldn't-"

"The militia! Ha!" the man interrupted the innkeeper. " A bunch of lads who don't know which way to wipe their arses!" The man's laugh was phlegmy and bitter. "The farm will soon be overrun. Too much trouble holding them at bay anymore. No one left- or interested- to go on an incursion against them. Every day we see signs they are approaching. I cannot bear it anymore. Theodora has already moved into the city. If my Wendel were still alive, we would fight, gain ground, make them nail their coffins shut from within…" his voice trailed off.

"T'is a good thing you have come into the city," the innkeeper replied gently. "It's not wise to venture out there unarmed. Hopefully it is short lived this time and you will be able to return-"

The man shooed him with a dismissive wave of his hand and raised his cup to be filled.

Stanislas tried to focus again on the young woman, her shapely figure revealed by the velvety blue dress, but found he could not concentrate. New Tristram was too cursed, he felt. He swallowed the remainder of his drink, slamming the cup down so violently, conversation in the room ceased momentarily and the young woman hesitated for a moment before resuming her strumming.

"What ails you?" Kormac asked, a hint of concern in his voice. Leah glanced up from the large tome she had been perusing all evening.

Stanislas rose from the table and tossed a few coins on the table before turning away.

_I am tired. Yet, when I close my eyes, all I see are creatures stirring in the shadows. I feel their eyes upon me. I cannot go on like this._

He wondered if the others suspected anything.

Earlier they had been inside the old Cathedral, searching once again for the burning star that had burst across the sky, setting the horizon in New Tristram ablaze. He could feel it humming in his bones, insistently, a spell of sorts summoning him to the steps of the ruined Cathedral. Leah had called his name repeatedly while she and Kormac waited outside, as he wandered farther through the debris, mesmerized by the beauty and peace of the decaying ruins. Rich brocaded seats stained with water damage and bursting with straw stuffing from the frayed fabric. Tapestries featuring the feats of brave knights- King Leoric's, perhaps?- fluttered in shreds as the wind blew through the broken beams in the roof. He gripped his crossbow tightly with one hand and his lantern's handle with the other, his knuckles white from the tension, listening into the darkness surrounding him.

Demons. The undead. The walls were teeming with their presence. He caught a flicker of silver in a great cracked mirror and fell into a combative stance, quickly dropping the lantern.

Silence.

He peered into the blackness of the mirror before him and saw the source of the eerie silver light: his own eyes, staring back from his slender face.

_What is this feeling,_ he wondered, glancing around him, sheepishly picking up the lantern.

_Is it fear?_

_No, I am familiar with fear. I knew it well. This is not fear._

And the realization made him uneasy.

_Even as I tread this ground, among the damned, among those who no longer retain any vestiges of humanity, who lurk in the gloom as they prepare to unleash their rage…Why is it? Why is that I feel this way? _

_That I feel as if I belong?_

_This,_ he had thought, reaching the Cathedral's nave, _is home: among the pillage and slaughter and absurdity and rot. This,_ he had realized, pausing before the altar, aware of an increasingly frenzied rustling in the background, _is what I know best. This is my life._

He set the lantern down on a pew, his demeanor stern but peaceful. He raised his crossbow before whirring around rapidly and firing an arrow into the oncoming beast. The grayish corpse still attempted to rake the air before him with its razor-sharp claws. Its beady eyes bloodied by the arrow plunged squarely in its forehead, its gaping maw twisted into a pained curse, the creature toppled motionlessly onto the flagstones.

A reverential silence fell upon him. The moonlight filtering through the few undamaged stained glass windows cast a ghostly blue glow around him.

_Let us 'prey' together, my brothers and sisters._


	2. Chapter 2- The Heart of the Storm

Black.

Leah observed Stanislas discretely from behind the pages of her book. Tall and sinewy. His skin was olive and his hair almost black, but his eyes were a light hazel, almost golden. In the dark she had seen those eyes reflect an ominous shimmer, cold silver, when immersed in his ritual of slaying the demonic. He wore black all the time, from his hood to his boots. "You can't see the blood stains," he explained half seriously when she had asked if everything he owned was black or if he just wore the same thing over and over. He was curt and ill-tempered, she found. Whenever he sat with them in the evenings he made her uneasy and too aware of the silence hanging between them. At least Kormac had stories to tell: life in his order, past campaigns and battles, the great betrayals, his constant puzzling over why folk preferred to do things differently than he would, and so on and on, it seemed. But Kormac had left them early that evening, tired and preoccupied, his still-healing injuries finally catching up with him.

It had been a bad day. They had wandered through the dank halls of the cathedral, aware of shadows flickering just outside their view, of the rustling and slithering in dark corners just before they flashed their lanterns and torches. They had been ambushed a couple times, but Stanislas had led them impassively out of each trap. The ghoulish creatures that hobbled toward them appeared menacing, but were also slow, decaying, fairly easy to topple with the blow of a sword or axe. They had reached an isolated staircase, winding down into a black enclave below. Just as Stanislas and Kormac began to make their way downward, Leah shouted out for them to stop. Her Uncle had taught her that much. There were ceremonial rooms in these old cathedrals, places left quiet for a reason. Cathedrals, Uncle Deckard had explained, were built on ancient sites, where old power had left traces. People had been worshiping there for a long time, even before the high buttressed ceilings soaring over them in the cathedral. Such places had to be approached carefully, reverentially, paying heed to whatever forces still lingered there. She could practically sense it. They had argued back and forth, with Stanislas insisting on going down and Leah frustratedly pointing out that it was reckless to do so. Kormac had, unhelpfully, left the decision up to Stanislas. Stanislas finally agreed to depart with the understanding they would return as soon as Leah had looked up what they could be up against in those lower halls and how to approach it. He was angry, though, complaining about how they had wasted the day, how they had cleared their path all the way there and would have to do so again, perhaps against greater numbers, the next day. He even hissed something unpleasant about her not feeling the urgency of finding her uncle. That, she thought, she did not like at all.

And yet, without him and his stoic demeanor, his slightly reckless attitude, there would be no hope, she realized. And she did hope fervently they would find Uncle Deckard. He was clever and wise and where others were worldly in such esoteric matters, he was _otherworldly_, she grinned to herself.

"What's so amusing?" the raspy voice spoke to her from across the table.

"I was remembering something my Uncle told me," she replied defiantly.

"I thought you were researching what horrors await us in that pit in the Cathedral. Wouldn't you rather actually _hear_ your uncle speak rather than just _remember_ him speak?"

Leah shut the book abruptly, startling him and even the innkeeper observing them.

"You must know that there are fates worse than death! Those creatures we had to slay are a testament to that. I want to save my Uncle, but I don't let that yearning overpower my reason. It would go against everything my Uncle taught me," she declared. "Don't mock me for wanting to have a strategy that keeps us all alive!" she said, slightly more peeved than she had intended.

Stanlislas blinked at her slowly. She held his gaze steadily, uncomfortable as it was. He finally cracked a smile and leaned back into his chair.

"You are a force to be reckoned with," he mused.

"Do you say that about anyone who doesn't do as you please?"

"Only the live, human ones that haven't been horribly cursed. The others I just kill."

"I suppose there is beauty in such simplicity," Leah replied dryly before pushing her chair away from the table and standing up.

"Stay," Stanislas asked gently.

"I have much to do still if we are to get a head start early tomorrow."

"You remind me of someone who was very dear to me," he said. "I will never see her again."

Leah hesitated. He'd let down his guard. As annoyed as she was, she had a soft spot for those with sad stories. _Pretty much everyone here_, she realized.

"You should go find her," Leah sat down again, curious.

"I will someday, I imagine. Perhaps sooner rather than later if I don't listen to you," he grinned again.

"What do you mean?" she puzzled.

"She is dead," came the hollow reply. The fire crackled and the flames sparked for a moment as a log split in the hearth.

"I am very sorry," Leah offered. He nodded and raised the cup of ale to his lips. He sipped quietly and stared off in the distance, as he was prone to do. She leafed through her book once more, looking for the last page she had been reading. Her mind raced, though. Was it his lover? _Did she die at the hands of the demons? Is that what drove him to become what he is?_ She peered up at him once more and found the light hazel eyes fixed on her. _Do I want to know? Wasn't it better thinking that he was simply something conjured out of thin air to help us?_

"Tell me about her," Leah asked kindly.

"She had a dusting of freckles over her nose, just like you," he remarked. His tone was warm. "And she told king and peasant what was on her mind, using the same words," he said. "She was a good person- a giving person. Like you are. I have seen how the people in this town seek you out for aid, for advice, or just courage," he spoke quietly. Leah held her breath. "She could not withstand injustice and brutality." He stopped and looked away for a moment. "I couldn't protect her. Even when I carried her to safety in my arms, the harm had already been done. Because she couldn't bear what she had witnessed, she was consumed by grief over all that we had lost on one horrid night. She took her own life shortly after my family's farm was attacked by demons. When the slaughter began, unexpectedly, we were all unarmed, defenseless. I was able to whisk her away through the back door of our house, but she saw…She saw the evil perpetrated by the hellborn, and the images haunted her after, never fading from her mind's eye."

Leah listened, a heaviness weighing in her chest.

"She was my sister. I tried to save her that night, but it was as if they had seized her in their clutches."

"But you survived," Leah interjected sympathetically. "You survived and can honor her memory." She did not know if that was the right thing to say or if it was just a tired platitude. His gaze became piercing at her words.

"I honor her memory? I survived only to wreak vengeance upon anything touched by hell," he sneered. "I live only to bring them a taste of their own nightmares."

He realized he was clenching his fists. The bewildered expression on Leah's face alerted him to his rising emotions. Emotions, he understood, other than the ones that compelled him fearlessly into black holes in the earth, were dangerous to him. Fatal even, he reasoned. There was no room for this softness, for this tenderness, for the sadness that clouded his vision and weakened his grip. Love, he had learned, made him vulnerable. Love, he remembered, had almost destroyed him, as each shriek from his mother and father, as they were felled by the demons, almost brought him to his knees with pain and despair. Love made his hands tremble as he caressed the cold, lifeless cheeks of the sweet girl he cradled against his chest. He would have died right there, beside her, grown roots into the lifeless ground if they had tried to pull him away from her, and held her close for all eternity. Love invited fear, and he never wanted to fear loss again. Hate, he understood, was as powerful and as rousing as love. But in his fury, in his bloodlust, it was not beauty and life he wished to preserve. It was Death that he became, the portal between this world and whatever hell awaited those he dispatched with a gleam in his eyes. It was power, it was strength. It invigorated him, it gave him a purpose. It was a burden he could shoulder and the Demon Hunters must have known it, when they found him, a broken shell of a boy, listlessly moving about in the world.

No, he thought, studying Leah's delicate features. He would continue to care, but in the abstract way he'd learned to do. Kormac, Leah, were allies in a common struggle. He had to be careful, he noted with irritation, not to let those gentle thoughts sneak up on him. He did not need a friend. He did not need love.

Leah read the same sentence over and over, stopping and starting the page she was on again. She was flustered, her heart beating rapidly. She was scared, she realized. This odd man in black clothing was human, after all. She had a glimpse of the true Stanislas; not the composed Demon Hunter, but the boy, the son and brother who had lived by the seasons and rains, his hands coaxing life from the earth rather than the violence and destruction he now visited upon the world. He was still intimidating, she thought to herself, but this was no longer something she resented. She understood, at least a little. She allowed her eyes to linger over his stern face, his gaunt face, and said an old incantation of peace in her mind for him:

"May no tempests mar the solitude of your soul,"

She hesitated for a brief instant before adding:

"My friend."


	3. Chapter 3- Living Tomb

Stanislas, Kormac, and Leah tumbled down the halls, crashing into each other, frantically scrambling away from the ancient doorway they had broken into earlier.

"This way!" Stanislas roared at both of them. Kormac, Leah noticed, looked as dazed as she. They held their swords at eye level, tensely. They followed Stanislas' voice into an alcove. He swiftly barricaded it with a fallen beam propping up a massive, decaying wooden door that had rotted straight off its hinges.

"Hold the beam in place!" he ordered them, as he reached beneath his shirt for a small pouch, filled with a gray powder he took a small pinch of and sprinkled before the entrance, tracing symbols on the flagstones at the threshold. _Warding signs_, Leah noticed. The powder, she surmised, must be something potent: a relic's burnt remains, or even the charred bones of some witch or mystic. As soon as he concluded his ritual, he sat against the wall, listening for noises beyond the door. He raised his finger to his lips, urging their complete silence. Leah held her breath. Kormac appeared grave and sullen as he stared at the door, bracing the beam with both muscular arms. Shuffling sounds brushed back and forth the hallway they had just escaped from. An eerie dragging sound- perhaps metal against stone, ground to a halt farther away. Leah winced as a deep voice spoke, reverberating through the walls, its words unintelligible and ancient.

That morning they had set out to the Cathedral prepared to face whatever lurked beneath the main nave. They had expected the usual onslaught of undead, flinging themselves heavily and aimlessly at them, as they had in the past couple of days, but were met instead with an ominous silence. Leah had not been able to find anything in her tomes about what ancient being still claimed the lower catacombs. _Uncle Deckard would know_, she had thought the night before, carefully putting his book on _Old Tristram's Genealogy of Conjuring_ back on the bookshelf at the inn. Wandering down the Cathedral that morning, she ran her fingers over the walls, alert and focused. At one point she had felt a twinge, a slight hint of recognition.

"He is here!" she whispered excitedly. "Uncle-"

Stanislas glared at her reproachfully. She quickly covered her mouth. _No names!_ she reminded herself. No names that could be used in the worst curses against them.

"Right. We should agree on how we will call each other when we go inside," she proposed.

Kormac nodded.

"I have always admired the great warrior-"

"Numbers," Stanislas cut him off. "I will be One, Leah, Two-"

"You get to be One?" Leah interjected, annoyed. "Why do you get to be number One?"

"Fine. Two or Three- I honestly don't care."

"Zero," she offered. Stanislas appeared disconcerted for a moment before flashing a grin.

"Very well," he amended. "I am Zero, Leah is One, and Kormac is Two."  
Both men checked Leah's expression, and seeing that she appeared satisfied, made their way down the dank stairwell, Kormac leading the way.

"You think of me as Nothing?" Stanislas whispered bemusedly into her ear, as they descended further.

"I think of you as a great unknown," she whispered back briskly.

"I like it, this new name. As the old saying goes, "Nothing risked, Nothing gained…"

She was about to reply in kind, something along the lines of "So much suffering for Nothing," but a sharp clang ahead of them caused all three to hold still in alert.

A group of three assassins leaped out from the sides of a set of pillars framing the entrance to a forbidding doorway. Before anything was uttered, Kormac and Stanislas ran up to confront them. Leah rapidly armed her crossbow. Metal scraped metal as Kormac deftly swung his longsword to deflect one of the assassin's attacks and subsequently bashed his helm squarely into his face. The man staggered backwards before toppling onto the ground. Without hesitation, Kormac plunged the sword into his chest. Stanislas swerved and ducked out of the path of a heavily swinging mace before tackling the second assassin's legs. The third assassin however, grasped at Stanislas' hair, tugging him down to the ground.

"Zero!" Leah cried.

Kormac whirled around and engaged the assassin whom Stanislas had toppled to the ground by aiming a heavy fist into his chest, thwarting his attack. Stanislas and the other assassin grappled with each other over the floor, rolling to the side of the hall. The man kept a fistful of Stanislas' hair tightly in his grasp, yanking forcefully at it so that his head was snapped back. He could see the man frantically reaching for his mace with his other hand. Stanislas endured another volley of tugs before pulling his legs in and reaching into the side of his boot for a thin blade he quickly palmed. He aimed upwards and felt the blade plunge into something hard, but still yielding. He felt a stronger yank to his head, and then, unexpectedly, release. The assassin fell to his knees before his field of vision, and as he glanced upwards, he saw the blade neatly lodged into the man's neck. He made a gurgling sound as he attempted to speak. Stanislas gradually stood, raised his foot and kicked the gasping man backwards.

Kormac had eliminated the last assassin with a decapitating arc of his sword. Stanislas glanced behind him, at Leah, just in time to see her unload her crossbow on a fourth assassin who had been lurking in the hallway behind them. The man clasped the arrow embedded in his chest and fell sideways, into the dark hallway. Stanislas looked at the immobile heap and nodded at Leah.

"Good one…One."

She grimaced at his attempt at cleverness and reloaded the crossbow.

"Given the welcome we have received, I would gather we are close," Kormac mused.

"Close to what, though?" Leah wondered.

"We will have to find out now," he concluded.

Stanislas brushed himself off and scanned the corpses for anything useful. Two of the men had markings inked into their flesh. They were initiate cult markings, Stanislas knew. He unmasked them and recognized the fairer hair and stern features of the Northern clans. He shoved one of the corpses out of his way with the tip of his foot. Dislodging his blade from the assassin's neck, he wiped it clean of blood stains on the man's garments, and slipped it back into his boot. "Two of these men are cultists, but the other two are hired mercenaries. Whatever is happening here, these cultists felt they needed the manpower to either break into these rooms or prevent others from entering."

Kormac knelt over one of the cultists, examining the markings. "This is demonic cult. Lesser demon, Radashiel," he concluded. Leah shrugged. "A minion of Mephisto's. What are they doing this far south? Why did they feel the need to come here, of all places?" Kormac continued, genuinely puzzled.

" For the same reason we came to Old Tristram: for the star," Stanislas remarked.

"I'm not interested in the star right now. I came here for my uncle," Leah interrupted, walking past them. "And I intend to find him. You are welcome to seek the star once we have found him."

"I also admit I did not come specifically for the star," Kormac stated, slipping his longsword in the sheath he had slung across his back. "I came to find the Tomes of my order once I received word that the Cathedral had been hit."

"Your uncle is captive here because the star crashed into this place and caused enough of a turmoil that malevolent dormant forces have been unleashed once more," he explained, pointing at Leah. "And you are seeking manuscripts that may have survived the impact," he turned to Kormac with slight exasperation. "The star is behind all of this, and who is to say whether anyone else has been affected by it, or even even recognizes in the event a foretold sign?"

He stared at the large doorway.

"We need to enter this room."

Leah was about to protest, but Stanislas raised his hand.

"You perused all your histories and records and found nothing. I let you do things your way. Now we do things my way."

"But we cannot go in there not knowing-"

"We DO know," Stanislas insisted. "Let us agree that whatever is behind that door is the reason why these men were armed to the teeth. Let us agree that whatever is behind the door will force us to fight to the death."

"I am prepared for a glorious victory," Kormac declared bravely. Leah frowned.

"If your Uncle is alive-"

"He is!" she protested. "I don't know why, but I am sure he is still alive, somewhere within these walls!"

"If your Uncle is alive," he proceeded calmly, "then we must make haste. He has waited long enough and I doubt he will be able to withstand another night in this place. Something does not bode well."

"It is true," Kormac agreed. "I find it odd that we haven't run into any undead."

"Forces are shifting. Now is the time to act." Stanislas stepped up to the elaborate doorway: a framed stone archway with heads of gargoyles protruding from the sides, and a heavy wooden door, deeply scratched and scorched. It was locked, of course. He attempted kicking it open, but it did not budge.

"Stop!" Leah hissed. "You might as well knock and announce we have arrived!" She edged herself between both men and examined the door. After a moment of contemplation, she turned towards them triumphantly.

"It's a _blodison_ door. You cannot open it by any ordinary means."

"A bloody what?" Kormac wondered confusedly.

" 'Hallowed by blood,' " Stanislas added admiringly. "Of course!"

"We can only open it by pouring blood." She scanned the door, running her fingers along the knob and keyhole. "No…none of these…" She brushed her hands over the doorway and finally settled her gaze upon the gargoyles, their mouths agape in a twisted grin. "Here!" she exclaimed. Stanislas fetched one of the assassins and dragged the corpse to the doorway. He leaned the man over the first gargoyle, pressing him so that the blood gushing from his neck wound trickled over the stoney tongue. Leah pointed out the fact that the gargoyles, despite the blood offering, remained unstained. Once he repeated the act on the second gargoyle, he let the body drop and stepped aside. Within moments they heard the heavy locks roll back, and the door opened slowly, as if propelled by a gentle breeze. Leah raised her lantern. Before them extended a great abyssal blackness.

"I hope you realize that _blodison_ doors were only used to seal great evil contained within consecrated ground?" Leah felt she needed to announce, glancing over her shoulder.

"'Great' is a relative term," Stanislas grinned wickedly, seizing his sword and crossbow.

"Do you not exercise any caution? Do you not reflect on fear, man?" she asked exasperatedly.

He marched past her and once he reached the edge of their lantern-lit circle, turned to her and pointedly stated, "You should fear… Nothing."

Leah pursed her lips and shook her head. _Brash and foolish_, she thought. But the tightness in her chest seemed to lift slightly at the time.

Now, as they stood in the blocked alcove, holding a wooden beam in almost complete darkness, she was terrified. They'd done everything wrong from the moment they crossed the _blodison_: the entrance collapsed shortly after they wandered past it. Their only known way out had been sealed. As they roamed the labyrinthine passages, it became clearer and clearer that they were descending into a burial chamber of sorts. As they crossed an underground atrium, they triggered something- and old spell, a warning, a trap. All around them hideous creatures began to rise from the rubble. Unlike the undead they had run into the Cathedral at the surface, these beings were quick, strong, and dangerous. They fought their way past one group only to find themselves in a heated pursuit down passageways they were not sure they had encountered before.

"I am almost out of arrows!" Leah announced nervously.

"Then use a sword," Stanislas turned to her impatiently.

"I don't know how to wield a sword well," she said frustratedly. She caught Kormac's expression, a look of duty and dedication aimed at her.

"Stay close to me," he instructed.

"No! You fight!" Stanislas stormed up to her, in exasperation. "Kormac cannot risk himself defending you. You came here with us knowing fully well what the stakes were. Tell me you have more tricks up your sleeve than only shooting away with a crossbow!"

Leah clutched the pommel of the short bladed sword she had brought along. Her eyes were stinging, but she dared not blink and give him the satisfaction of knowing he had shaken her spirit. "I am none of your concern."

Stanislas turned away again, moving ahead, impassively. Kormac looked at her sympathetically.

"Stay close," he mouthed.

At that point, they had crowded into the alcove, where they currently found themselves hiding. The warding spell Stanislas had etched was quickly wearing out. They watched the ashen powder burn away as if lit by embers. Once consumed, they would be vulnerable to the army of undead warriors.

"These are the burial chambers of King Leoric," Stanislas muttered. "There is our connection to the cultists, Kormac."

Kormac glanced over at Stanislas.

"But he had been defeated."

"Defeated, but not destroyed."

"How many inhabit the void left by a soul in a body?" Leah complained. _Did anything stay dead?_ she wondered. And it was never brought back by anything righteous and heavenly: only the demonic appeared to scoff at the boundaries between life and death.

Outside they could hear many heavy footsteps stop before the door. The ashes coiled and curled as they burned hotly on the ground. Stanislas could feel himself sweating. He glanced around the room and saw that Kormac's forehead was glistening too.

"We will not go down without a fight," he admonished them. He stared at Leah's reddish hair and delicate features. Standing so close to her, he caught himself stilling his hand before it could rise and caress her head. Outside a loud shout echoed among the assembled army of the undead. The footsteps appeared to scatter in every direction. All three listened with curiosity.

"What is happening?" Leah whispered.

"They are leaving?" Kormac whispered in disbelief.

"Quiet. Something is happening outside," Stanislas hushed them cautiously. They heard a voice- this one a bit hoarse and cracked. It was a shaky voice, but unmistakably human. It was uttering an incantation, loudly enough to instill fear and push away the undead soldiers. Leah's eyes widened and she sprung toward the door.

"Uncle!" she cried, hitting the wood with the heel of her hand. "Uncle!"

The shuffling footsteps halted outside.

"Are you here?" he yelled. "I never thought I'd see you again!"

Leah struggled with the door, trying to eek a passage between it and the stone. Stanislas and Kormac lowered the beam down carefully and slid the door slightly. Leah squeezed through the narrow opening before leaping into Deckard Cain's arms.

"Uncle! You are alive!"

Stanislas and Kormac followed her, taking in the wizened figure. Cain was a fragile-looking man, his hair wispy white, as fine as cobweb strands. His clothes, a green robe and a dark-colored cloak, were stained. Despite his haggard appearance, Stanislas noticed he was rather spry and in possession of his full faculties.

"We do not have much time. I have managed to frighten off the lesser retainers with a simple luminosity spell, but I am almost all out of reagents and I cannot hold off the King himself, should he appear before us!"

"Lead the way," Stanislas urged him. Cain nodded and began heading down the hall. Just as they lined up behind him, the old man turned to them confusedly.

"Which way is out?"

Stanislas drew in a sharp breath.

"We were counting on your knowledge."

"If I had known, do you not think I would have already escaped?" Cain asked, intrigued.

Further behind them moans and grunts erupted. A small squad of undead made haste in their direction.

"Be gone!" Cain shouted, thrusting his hand forward and releasing a blinding flash of light that lit the narrow passageway they stood in. The creatures hissed and shrieked, hurriedly retreating.

All four exchanged glances as the light flickered before slowly dying out.

"Perhaps if we make our way back to the rubble at the entrance, we could attempt to clear it?" Kormac offered.

Leah noticed that even Stanislas appeared unsure. _Uncle, please think of something._

Cain rubbed his beard deep in thought for a few minutes. He stared at the stone walls pensively before exclaiming: "There is a way out!"

"Excellent!" Kormac cheered.

"Follow me!"

They made their way down further.

"I have been avoiding it as much as possible, but truly it is our only way out."

"What do you mean?" Stanislas inquired.

"It's an antechamber of the King's actual burial chamber. Traditionally, these tombs were built to keep intruders out. They are filled with traps and designed so that you cannot retrace your steps. However, builders always left one passageway open. This was so other members of the family could be buried there on later dates, or additional possessions locked away, or even so that rites of memory could be conducted," Cain explained as they made their way down a wide nave of inlaid stone flanked with columns.

"So you are taking us to the burial chambers of King Leoric?" Kormac asked bewildered.

"Antechambers. And King Leoric is no more. The man died long before his body decayed- Mephisto and Diablo saw to that," Cain explained impatiently. "What is left now is some horrible cursed creature that bears no resemblance to the King."

"And you expect us to be evenly matched for such a combat?" Stanislas asked, glancing at Leah. Cain's face clouded.

"If an old man like me has survived these many days, I can only marvel at what such young bodies can accomplish. Demonic as our attackers may be, metal still cuts them down."

Cain reached into the folds of his robe and his hand emerged clutching a small dagger. Kormac's eyes widened and he stepped forward, his longsword at the ready. Leah nodded to her uncle, raising her crossbow. Stanislas smirked. The situation was oddly comical.

"I commend you on your rallying spirit, old man," he stated. "I am merely emulating your niece's cautiousness," he glanced at Leah, who glared back at him. "We should devise a strategy."

"What do you propose, Demon Hunter?" Cain asked, taking in Stanislas' dark attire and his silvery eyes.

Stanislas pointed at Kormac. "You: charge forward, I will follow immediately behind. Leah: defend your uncle."

Both Cain and Leah began to protest, each outraged at Stanislas' assumption they were incompetent in battle. Kormac attempted to appease the quarrelsome duo, but eventually became irked himself, since he was anxious to engage in combat. Stanislas rubbed his forehead in mild irritation. Just then, the ground began to tremble beneath them. Kormac whisked Cain away from a collapsing wall that toppled right before their eyes, revealing on the other side what appeared to be a deep crater, illuminated by a brilliant blue light.

"The star!" they gasped.

"Traitors!" a hollow voice boomed further down. The light of the crater revealed they stood at the top of a short staircase. A large, boney figure, clad in a rotting gown, stepped out into their view.

"You will pay with your lives for desecrating this ground."

"And we will finish the work begun by the brave men who dispatched you after all your treachery, Leoric!" Kormac shouted. The figure's flesh had decayed over its skull, a boney grin perpetually featured upon its face. At the mention of its name, the figure tilted its head curiously. He appeared to raise his hand towards them, golden rings glistening on the skeletal fingers.

"Be careful!" Cain cried to them, just as an invisible force seized him in its grasp, dragging him effortlessly to the edge of the crater.

"NO!" Leah shouted. She pushed her way forward and began to fire her crossbow at the ghoulish soldiers who had materialized before them. Kormac joined her, swinging his sword heavily, cutting a swath through the decomposed bodies.

Stanislas noticed the King had stopped short of the crater's edge and had not been able to drag Cain into it. _The star,_ he realized. _It has roused them from their tombs, but they are held in thrall to it. It is tampering with their powers._

"Old man!" he yelled over the clatter of weapons. "Hold them off by any means you can!"

Cain had deployed his small arsenal: a combination of the remainder of his blinding luminosity spell and sharp jabs of his small dagger had so far succeeded in keeping two assailants at bay. Stanislas climbed on the parapet of the railing and shot his crossbow at the two undead attacking Cain. He jumped down and reached for his daggers, leaving the crossbow behind. He sprung up from his crouching stance swiftly and stabbed another soldier, who arched backwards in angry surprise before succumbing to the strike. A larger undead warrior spotted him, effortlessly pushing Leah and Kormac out of his way. Stansilas narrowly missed the swing of his blade.

He knew in an instant that this being was not the result of a curse. This, he felt in every fiber of his being as peered into its black eye sockets, was a true demon. The enraged creature thrust the tip of its sword at him once more.

Stanislas extended his arm to his side, and without turning, asked Leah, "Give me your sword."

She placed the pommel heavily in his palm, and he raised the blade to eye level. The demon hunched forward, both circling each other, gauging the best moment to attack.

_There will be no battle_, Stanislas thought. _This is a demon, not a soldier who will fight skillfully._

A bolt of lightning materialized in the air and Stanislas instinctively jumped back as it crashed where he had been standing.

_Cowardly_.

Stanlislas fell to his knees. In the near distance he could hear shouting. _I am causing a commotion_, he smiled wanly. _Good_.

The demon marched up to him, sword raised in the air, pointing downwards in preparation to deliver the final blow. Stanislas reached into the small pouch he kept tucked inside his shirt, around his neck. He took a pinch of the sooty powder within- just enough, not daring to waste the bulk of it on a lesser minion such as that- and before the demon could plunge its blade into him, thrust the powder in its face. The move stunned the demon, causing it to stagger backwards, reaching its mangled hands to its face. The dust began to smolder and the demon screeched angrily. Stanislas pierced its chest in one fell swoop. It clutched at the sword, sputtering furiously.

"Hush," Stanislas growled.

He withdrew the blade, but the demon still stood, somewhat dazed, upright and aware. It invested against him once more, striking Stanislas on the shoulder as he attempted to block the sword's blow. Stanislas felt the searing pain and stared at the demon. Its face was now corroded, eaten away where the powder had landed. Stanislas curled his body forward, as if sheltering his wound and sensed the demon loom over him. As it did, Stanislas reeled forward, plunging his two daggers into the demon's cavernous eye sockets. He twisted the blades violently, his hatred stoking his fierceness. Quietly, almost inaudibly, he recited the old creed, saying one name slowly, pointedly. The demon's cries echoed throughout the chamber. The King's shape wavered across the crater and they heard him roar angrily before vanishing. Kormac and Leah had dispatched the remaining soldiers as Stanislas battled the demon. The demon's motionless body fell, but Stanislas did not stop; he struck the corpse again and again with Leah's sword, the fresh wounds bleeding into one another. He spat and cursed, kicking it violently, so that it gradually lay in a contorted heap.

"Enough, Hunter," he heard Cain's gentle voice behind him. Stanislas stepped back to examine his work: a bloody pulp of a head stared back at him.

_Not enough._

He felt another surge of rage overcome him and raised his foot once more. A firm grasp over his healthy shoulder distracted him.

"It is done, friend." It was Kormac.

"How do we get out of here?" Leah asked Cain. The old man found himself hesitating between a desire to explore the crater and the wall with the exit. He lifted his lantern carefully and placed it before different parts of the wall, observing the flame. At one specific spot, the flame began to flicker.

"Here," he announced proudly. "There is air outside blowing through. Press into the wall in this area so we can open the doorway."

He, Leah, and Kormac all brushed their palms flatly over the wall's surface, pushing against it until a loud snap startled them and hinges groaned loudly. A stairwell led upwards, and at its surface the night sky unfurled. Stanislas stared at the mangled demon, unwilling to move. He became aware that all eyes were on him. Glancing up he saw the concerned expressions of his companions.

"Hurry," Leah beckoned.

They arrived at the main gate of Tristram by daybreak. The militiamen on duty scarcely believed their eyes when they saw that not only had all three who set out the day before returned, but that Deckard Cain was among them. Their whoops of joy pierced the crisp morning air, inviting other citizens to awaken and participate in their cheering. Leah saw, for the first time since the star had fallen, something akin to hope among the villagers. Hands reached out to greet them, bless them, or perhaps confirm they were real. She smiled, shaking hands, returning kind words, shielding her exhausted uncle from the tumult. The haggard party edged its way to the inn, Leah begging the astonished innkeeper to save his questions for later, as they made their way to their rooms at the very back of the building. Kormac collapsed into his bed, succumbing to an exhausted stupor, his sword clattering on the wooden floor beside his bed. Leah surveyed the room and threw a couple logs into the still glowing hearth before leading her uncle to his old bed, which Stanislas had been using, drawing back the covers, and helping him with his cloak and shoes. She promised him something warm to drink, and when he protested, she assured him she, too, would rest after a cup of tea. She glimpsed Stanislas' skulking form enter the room. The blood had dried over his shirt where his shoulder wound was. She imagined that pulling the fabric off the cut would be uncomfortable.

She approached him and guided him into her own adjacent room, and lay a large bowl of water on the rustic table she often used as a writing desk. She pulled out some clean cloths from a lower drawer. Stanislas waved her away, but she ignored him, marching right up to him and forcefully pushing him down on the edge of her bed. She gingerly dabbed a wet cloth over the shirt, hoping to moisten the area where the sleeve had become attached to the raw cut. The cloth turned scarlet. She pursed her lips. He might need stitches.

"I am getting the healer," she announced softly. Stanislas made as if to protest, but upon seeing Leah's determined face, feebly acquiesced.

"Wait a moment," he uttered quietly, grasping her hands in his. Leah sought out his eyes concernedly.

"What is wrong?"

"One moment," he clasped her small hands in his tightly, tightly against the darkness that threatened to envelop him, blind him, that pain where he would be destroyed.

_This grief_.

"Stanislas," she whispered after a moment. "You have lost too much blood. Let me fetch the healer."

He nodded.

Leah hesitated to leave him alone. She instinctively turned to the door, calling out the innkeeper. When he emerged, she asked him to find the healer. She sat beside Stanislas for a long time, her hand firmly ensconced between his. She was afraid of looking into his face, but commanded herself to take a glimpse. He stared ahead, stolidly as was his custom, but the moment she turned her head to look at him, he turned too, to meet her gaze. Leah saw the pain and sadness reflected in his eyes and did not know what to say, what to do. Stanislas slowly leaned in towards her and she held still. His coarse lips touched the bridge of her nose and then he tentatively brushed his lips against hers, seeking a sign. Leah closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the surge of emotions arising within her, but at the sound of voices and footsteps outside the door, they broke away from each other. The healer hurriedly walked into the room, addressing her, instantly fussing over his patient. Leah gave the man a wide berth so that he could move freely in the small space and retreated into the room where Kormac snored soundly and her uncle rested in his bed, his eyes wide open.

"Did you forget my tea, child?" he grinned kindly. Leah shook herself out of a daze and mechanically began to prepare the tea.

"Uncle?" she asked once they began to sip their infusions.

"Yes?"

"What did Stanislas do to the demon at the Cathedral?"

"Ah," he muttered. They could see shadows projected by the candlelight moving around agitatedly in the other room. Stanislas was cursing over the healer's pleas that he hold still.

"He is a Demon Hunter," her uncle replied after a long pause. Leah sighed.

"Did you take too many punches to the head?" she grumbled.

The old man chuckled warmly.

"Demon Hunters are a very resilient breed," Uncle Deckard explained. "They fight fire with fire, if you will."

"So...they become demonic too?" Leah wondered. Uncle Deckard shook his head vehemently.

"No…No. They are all too human. Leah…Do you know the story of how the race of man came to be?"

Leah rolled her eyes. "Not a history lesson. Now is not the time."

"Pssh. You are impatient. Listen. We are a race of Angels and Demons. We carry within us the potential for supreme goodness and love and well as the ability to wreak enormous suffering. We have the capacity for great hatred. These forces, love and hatred, are not so different, my dear. Both compel us to rise up at the darkest of times. Hatred is what is keeping your friend there alive right now. It is his way of life. He even swore an oath to it. But it takes its toll, Leah. He is human, after all, not a demon, and sometimes, he must have those rare moments when he becomes all too aware that all his great hatred, the source of his power, of his courage, comes from nothing more than the loss of great love. And that to muster that courage, to ignite his fury, he must continuously relive that loss."

Leah listened carefully, taking her uncle's words in. Her eyes welled up as she remembered his story about the night he lost his family, his young sister's death.

"Did you notice he used an incantation to confound the demon?" Uncle Deckard asked. Leah blinked back the tears and nodded. The air had crackled with energy, making the hairs on her neck stand.

"He carries a small pouch of some strange powder around his neck. He used it twice," she told him. "Once to draw a warding barrier behind that door we were hiding, right before you found us, and then during his battle with the demon."

"Ah," Uncle Deckard said approvingly. "But you said it is a powder-"

"Yes, a dusty grayish powder."

"Did you know that Demon Hunters never bury their dead?" he asked.

"No?" Leah wondered.

"Never. They do not want their dear ones to become vessels for demonic forces in death. They burn their corpses."

Leah looked down at her feet. She recalled his words, how he had talked about not wanting to let go of his sister. They must have had to tear her away from his arms. They must have had to hold him back from immolating himself on that funeral pyre.

"That pouch contains the ashes of someone he loved. That, combined with the curse he murmured at the demon was what ultimately defeated it."

"Curse?" Leah marveled.

"It is an old spell- it is a binding curse that reverts the wrong done to an innocent soul back to its perpetrator. The one evoking the curse binds the wrongdoer with the ashes and seals the curse by revealing the name of the one whom the ashes came from."

"You mean that was the demon who killed his family?" she gasped, reaching for Cain's arm.

Kormac stirred in his sleep, making an odd, puffing sound that faded off in a volley of angry mumbles. As soon as he settled again, she turned to her uncle.

"Unlikely. That was some sentinel, stationed long ago, probably during the troubles that arose during the time of King Leoric, and forgotten after his defeat. He lay dormant until the star's power stirred them all out of their slumber." Uncle Deckard took a sip of his tea. "But demons are all part of the same thing- the same energy, if you will. And here is the great mystery, Leah- so are angels. And so are we."

They sat in silence for a while, the activity next door also quieting down.

"So I ask you this," Uncle Deckard said suddenly, startling Leah. "What powered that curse?"

Leah's eyes widened.

"His hatred, of course! You saw how he attacked that thing even after it was destroyed."

Uncle Deckard sniffed and Leah braced herself because she knew he had some great revelation up his sleeve.

"Hatred or love? Don't forget- ever- that both forces empower- as well as destroy."

She nodded, speechless. She sat next to Uncle Deckard until she heard his deep breathing. She peered into her room and saw the healer had left his apprentice, a scrawny young man approximately her age, to watch over Stanislas' sleep. She noticed his shoulder was bandaged, the wrappings stained with yellow ointment plastered over the wound to prevent infection. His head was turned away, towards the wall and his hand rested over his chest.

"The Master gave him a good concoction to help him rest. It was either that or a knock to the head, since he wouldn't settle," the apprentice whispered conspiratorially. Leah gave him an obligatory polite grin. She stared momentarily at the hand, a strong, brutish hand, one accustomed to hard labor, and remembered how gently, but firmly it had held hers, as if she would disappear into thin air at any moment, far beyond his reach.

She dragged a blanket off a chair and wrapped it around herself.

"I will be with the innkeeper's daughter if you need me."

"You must be exhausted," he said amiably, but curious. "Was it a difficult rescue?"

She smiled wanly.

"I can tell you about it another time. Right now I think I will collapse if I don't sleep for a bit."

The apprentice immediately agreed.

"Come and get me if you need to leave," she added. He nodded and she departed.

Stanislas remained still as he heard her footsteps fade beyond the room. Around him he could hear the apprentice turning the pages of a book, Kormac's heavy breathing, as well as Cain's. He clutched his hand tightly over the pouch of ashes on his chest.

_Your ashes ran out long ago_, he thought. _I now carry the remains of others who died like you. But it is your name, my little one, that I say to them before I return them to hell. _

He closed his eyes.

_I thought I would know peace once the last of your ashes was used. But I didn't. You can't ever be avenged for as long as demons walk this world and I am alive._

_I will never find peace. And nor shall you._

_Forgive me, dearest. Forgive me._


End file.
